


Pad!Lock

by I_am_lampy



Series: Shifter!Sherlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 20:45:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18199106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_lampy/pseuds/I_am_lampy
Summary: Six year old John makes a friend.





	Pad!Lock

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the process of writing a Dragon!Lock story and I told one of my betas, Katie, that I should write a series where Sherlock is a different animal in each story. She said there was a series called Species!Lock but that I should go for it anyway. (Because what _hasn't_ already been done in the Sherlock fanfiction universe?)
> 
> So, I was lying in bed before sleep, thinking of words that ended in "lock" to see if I could come up with an animal to match it. The word "padlock" came up and I thought, "lily pad. frogs! Sherlock the frog!" and then this sweet little story came to me. And now I get to share it with you.
> 
> This is totally a rough draft, but I wanted to post it anyway because I'm one of those people who JUST CAN'T NOT SHARE. I'll probably go and change shit. There's probably typos. THIS STORY IS NOT APPROVED BY ANY OF MY BETAS SO DON'T BLAME THEM.

* * *

It had been raining for three days which meant John was stuck inside with his Mum and Harry, who was practically a baby and no fun at all to play with. When John woke up on the fourth day and saw the skies were clear, despite the dripping trees and sodden ground, he was so happy that he might have run out of the house without breakfast if his Mum hadn't stopped him.

"Eat breakfast, John, brush your teeth and then you can go out to play."

John hurried through both of those things, dressed quickly and then burst out of the back door, excitement singing in his blood.

Dad was off fighting a war in the desert so Mum and John and Harry had gone to live with his Nan. She lived in the country and John loved it, loved the quiet and the nearly blank canvas of a playground that was his Nan's land. His imagination was unlimited and he'd never minded playing by himself. He liked himself, liked the way he could do whatever he wanted and didn't have to share his toys or have anyone change the game.

Nan's land went on and on (at least it seemed so to John who was, after all, only six) and he walked all the way to the fence and back, veering off into the copse of trees with the purple-brown twigs and red-orange berries. There hadn't been berries when they arrived in February, but when the season changed and the weather began to warm, it burst out with white flowers. John had picked some of the buds and taken them to Mum who had put them in a jam jar with water. When he picked some of the berries and brought those, his Nan had exclaimed, _John! Those are poisonous!_ He wasn't stupid—he knew better than to eat strange berries, but he didn't say that to Nan. He'd only said, _Yes, Nan_ and gave her his best smile and she'd tousled his hair and hugged him, calling him her sweet boy.

Of course, it was the forbidden aspect of the trees that made John love meandering through what felt to him like a whole forest. He got a little flutter in his belly whenever he stepped under the trees, the sounds of the countryside strangely muted.

School had let out a few weeks ago, and John's playground had beckoned to him every day, but then it had begun to rain. And rain. And _rain_ until John thought he might scream if he had to spend one more day fending Harry off from his toys.

Today he wandered all the way through the trees and out the other side and stopped, startled and confused. The pond (though his Mum said it wasn't really a _pond_ —just a really big puddle of water) had doubled in size. There was a cluster of lily pads against one edge of the pond that had sprouted white flowers. John crouched at the edge opposite the lily pads, where a small bay only a few feet wide had exploded with tiny tadpoles the week before. John had a stick in his hand and he used it to clear away some dead leaves from the water's surface.

There were only a dozen or so tadpoles left, but they were much bigger and were growing legs. He and his Mum had looked up the life cycle of frogs on the computer so John knew that the tadpoles would eventually lose their tails and then come out of the water as grown frogs. They were unafraid of John, not darting away the way the minnows and dragonflies did when John's shadow fell looming over them.

The tadpoles swum around and around as though that was all they were really supposed to do. John was so fixed in watching them that the sudden disturbance of the weeds set back from the edge of the pond didn't register at first. And then out hopped a little frog, startling John so badly that he let out shriek and fell back in the mud right on his bum. He stared at the frog, his heart hammering like it might explode out of his chest. Then his shock morphed suddenly into rage. How  _dare_ that frog frighten him like that! He imagined himself standing up, lifting his foot and _smashing_ the rotten frog beneath it.

Then he was filled with horror at thinking something so violent, alarming himself so much that he scuttled backwards on his hands, momentarily convinced he'd actually done it. John would _never_ do something like that, _ever_. He wasn't one of those boys who pushed littler kids or set ants on fire. He was a sweet boy—his Nan said so.

He leapt to his feet, checking to make sure the frog was in the same place, and with shame rolling nauseatingly in his gut, fled back home. He didn't even know he was crying until he shot through the door and ran straight into his Mum. She grabbed him by the arms, at first scolding him for being all over mud, but then she cupped his cheeks and asked, "What's wrong, baby?"

John let himself cling to her for a moment, but then pushed her away, embarrassed for wanting his Mum to hold him. "Nothing," he lied.

"John dirty," Harry said behind him and he turned to see her pointing at him. He frowned at her and she popped her thumb in her mouth.

"I just fell down is all," John mumbled and then shucked his clothes down to his pants. His Mum helped him put them in the washing machine and add the soap. She even let him push the button to start it. Then they rinsed his canvas sneakers at the kitchen sink.

He felt much better after that and retreated to his room, but for two days he avoided the pond, sticking closer to the house when he went outside.

~*~

The little frog stayed on his mind, and eventually curiosity won out over dismay. When he came out of the copse of trees and saw the pond spread out before him, he hung back from the water's edge, wary of being frightened by the sudden appearance of any frogs. There was a log right inside the tree line and he swept as much of the dirt off as he could and then sat on it, leaning forward eagerly.

He didn't have to wait for long. The weeds at the water's edge ruffled as though a breeze had blown through just that small patch, and then out hopped the frog. John only flinched a little, even though he'd been expecting it. He stayed frozen, watching to see what the little frog would do. It was pretty small—small enough to fit into the palm of his hand.

The frog turned, and John could swear it was looking at him with curiosity. Then, to John's shock and delight, it began hopping towards him. The motion of its legs was almost hard to discern, its little _hop hop hop stop hop hop stop_ pattern almost as mesmerizing as watching the tadpoles swimming round and round.

The little frog hopped all the way to where John sat on the log and then stopped. Its skin was wet-looking and more brown than green, darker brown spots and stripes over its back and down its legs. Its funny shaped toes were spread out on the ground. Golden brown eyes with a large pupil in the center stared up at him. It bobbed its head a few times as though saying hello and John laughed with pleasure, clapping his hands.

This time, the frog was the one who got scared off and John watched it jump away, back to the weeds and then there was just the tiniest ripple over the top of the water. The tiny head of the frog swam out of the reeds, its eyes barely visible above the surface. It headed for the side with the lily pads to hide from him.

John felt the prickle of his eyes and the swelling of his throat and squeezed his eyes shut, but one hot tear slid down his cheek. He waited for hours, but the frog never came back.

That, John thought, heartbroken, was that.


End file.
